Delirium
by spare
Summary: The bizarre death of a prominent romance novelist entraps Leon -- in more ways than one. As our favorite Detective falls dangerously deeper into the abyss of dreams and delusions, would the Count be able to save him before it's too late?
1. The Crime Scene

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.  
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. The first chapter only has Leon in it. Fans of Count D and Leon x Count D would have to wait for the next chapter. Oh, yes, and in case you didn't know, this is a YAOI fic. Just a warning to the homophobic.  
  
Delirium  
  
by spare  
  
Chapter 1: The Crime Scene  
  
"What the fuck happened in here?" Detective Leon Orcot asked aloud, stepping inside what had most probably been the tastefully designed interior of the victim's sprawling penthouse apartelle.  
  
Emphasis on the past tense; the room, along with apparently every other nook and cranny of the apartment, was covered with an overgrowth of fern and moss. It was as if the place that had served as Sean Renaud's residence for two consecutive years had transformed into a gardener's hedge sculpture nightmare come true.  
  
"Looks like the friggin' Kewpie Gardens gone haywire, doesn't it?" one of the other officers surveying the area drawled out conversationally from where he sat, hunched over a dark green, fuzzy shape that might just be the centerpiece to a tea table of indistinguishable make. The man had blonde hair a shade darker than Leon's, and looked to be the size and build of a football player. "Somebody should have gone easy on the fertilizer. Still, they've started to dry up --" he continued, using the black ballpoint pen he held in one hand to indicate patches of light brown in the foliage growing across the far wall and the sofa, "I'd say, two, three days ago." The man stood up. "You Officer Orcot?"  
  
Leon nodded. "Yep, that's me. And you're--?"  
  
"Officer Julian Gomez. Forensics," the man replied, smiling. "Jill's told me about you. You have the worst luck running into these sorts of cases, don't you?"  
  
"Tell me about it," the blonde detective said. He almost told the other officer -- two years his junior from the looks of it, with deepset eyes, exactly Jill's type -- about how he had come to the conclusion that one person was to be held responsible for the bizarre deaths and disappearances which had occurred throughout the year. Unbidden, a familiar, willowy figure with jet black hair and mismatched eyes flitted through his mind's eye. /I'll get you yet, D/, he mentally vowed to himself for the umpteenth time since his first visit to the enigmatic petshop owner's abode in, of all places, Chinatown.  
  
"This may look pretty bad, but this is just the icing to the cake," the man who had identified himself as Gomez and Jill's latest beau went on, oblivious to the slight detour Leon's thoughts had taken. "Now, the dead guy -- Sean Renaud -- /that's/ one heck of a piece of work."  
  
Leon nodded. /D must be behind this./ Already he could feel the wheels clicking and turning like clockwork in his razor sharp detective's brain. "Let me see him."  
  
Gomez shrugged. "I'll show you to his bedroom."  
  
x x x  
  
Sean Renaud lay on a queen-sized bed in the middle of a room even more overrun by vegetation than the one they'd previously occupied.  
  
Or rather, the emaciated corpse that had once been Sean Renaud lay there on the bed. Its eyes were sunken and hollowed, its face made even more grotesque by the smile gracing the darkened strips of flesh that had been its lips. Skeletal arms and fingers cradled the slender, tendriled fronds of the ferns wrapped around the dead man's pajama-clad body in a loving embrace.  
  
Turning his cobalt gaze from the corpse's face and venturing lower, Leon finally found the answer to the question he'd asked first off.  
  
Part of it, anyway.  
  
/Sean happened./  
  
It was a scene straight out of those freak sci-fi magazines he used to read as a kid. Apparently, the ferns and mossy foliage covering the entire suite had originated from a single plant growing out of the thing that had once been Sean Renaud's stomach. It had sucked him dry, too. Not a trace of blood could be immediately seen on the plant or Renaud's clothes.  
  
For the first time in too many years, Leon felt the urge to vomit. He swallowed it back down.  
  
"The name Sean Renaud ring a bell to you?" Officer Gomez asked, walking in behind him.  
  
He coughed. "Aside from it being this guy's name, uh, no. Should it?"  
  
"Not really. How about Jacques Marcel?"  
  
Leon gave him another blank look.  
  
"He's the author of five romance novels, all of them national bestsellers," Gomez filled in, a sweatdrop trickling down the side of his head. "He even won awards for a couple. His latest work got rave reviews from romance magazines all across the country. Hollywood's filming a screen adaptation. Where have you been?" he finished, glaring.  
  
"Where have /you/ been?" The detective glared back.  
  
The younger officer's face broke out in a sheepish grin. "Pretty much the same place you were. Jill reads him."  
  
Leon snorted. "What's this guy have to do with Renaud, anyway?"  
  
"Renaud's mother's maiden name was Marcel."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Rubbing the left side of his neck lazily, Gomez began reading off a xerox copy of his report draft. "Sean Marcel Renaud: Age 27, Caucasian male, French creole descent. Freelance writer for the literary folio /The Column/, full-time romance novelist under the /nom de plume/ Jacques Marcel. Found dead by his agent exactly three and a half hours ago, but our stiff's been in this state at least three days earlier than that. Poor gal's all hysterical when we got here. She's managed to calm down some at the station." He shook his head. "Wait till the tabloids get wind of this. Renaud's case will go right up there in the Top 5 Freak Deaths of the Century."  
  
Leon approached the corpse. "Do you mind?" he asked, allowing a brief sideward glance in the other officer's direction.  
  
The younger man gave him a nod. "Be my guest."  
  
A closer look at Renaud's remains revealed that the plant had, indeed, quite literally sucked him dry. Leon had seen a mummy in one of the local museums once, the kind divested of its bandages, and its skin, a cross of texture between tanned leather and wax stretched taut over the cadaver's bones, closely approximated the deceased novelist's own condition. Renaud didn't look or smell like any other week-old corpse the detective had come across, that was for sure. The other guys were black-faced, bloated, and smelled of rotting meat. This guy was... preserved.  
  
/Like strips of salted beef jerky left out in the sun./  
  
/Like long-forgotten flowers pressed between the pages of an old gradeschool notebook./  
  
/Dehydrated./ The word bubbled up in Leon's mind as he continued his inspection of the corpse and the plant /thing/ using its midriff as both soil and flower pot.  
  
The plant was a deep, healthy shade of green, its stems thick where they emerged from Renaud's dismembered stomach. Its delicate fronds resembled fingers, long, thin and claw-like, spreading, curling outwards. A loose, lace-like pattern seemed to trace itself through each individual leaf. /Veins,/ the detective thought, and knelt down. There were small, bulbous protrusions growing near the bottom of the base stems, and the veins seemed to originate from them. They were lighter in color than the rest of the plant, with hints of pink appearing where the bulge was widest. Were these where all of Renaud's fluids went? Leon wondered idly. If he pinched a bulb between his fingers, would blood -- the victim's blood -- ooze out of its shattered skin?  
  
Acting entirely on impulse, he tentatively held out a hand to one of the bulbs.  
  
Its skin broke the instant it came in contact with the detective's fingers. A nearby bulb immediately erupted a split second later in apparent response to its sibling's demise. Another followed. And another. Not three seconds elapsed before all thirteen bulbs of the original plant burst open in rapid succession. Leon barely had the time to blink before a cloud of yellowish dust discharged themselves from the ruptured sacs, the particles drifting straight towards his face.  
  
"Goddammit!" The blonde detective swore, jerking backwards. Too late. Coughing, he took a step back, flapping both hands in front of his face wildly to dispel the remainder of the powdery yellow substance that had launched itself at him.  
  
"Jesus, Orcot!" Gomez swore along with him. The younger man made as if to approach him, but Leon waved him away.  
  
"I'm OK!"  
  
"Are you sure--"  
  
"I'm alright," the detective repeated, dropping his hands.  
  
It seemed to take a moment for the other officer to process the fact. His eyes had left Leon's face, settling just a little beyond the elder man's shoulders. Finally, Gomez whistled, looking back at the detective. "Glad to hear you're fine," he said. "But that thing behind you sure isn't."  
  
Frowning, Leon turned around, following the direction of the younger cop's gaze. Upon doing so, his expression eventually mirrored the look on Gomez's face.  
  
The plant, the one that had made fertilizer of Sean Renaud's body for who knows how many days, had, in the span of less than sixty seconds, effected a complete transformation. No longer was it green. No longer was it healthy. No longer was it alive.  
  
The plant was now brown, withered, and, in all other respects not needing further mention, dead.  
  
x x x  
  
Author's Rants: I dedicate this fic to Elana-chan (na itago na lang natin sa pangalang Jedi), who introduced me to the manga. Yes, this is my first PSoH ficcie. Reviews, cinnamon rolls and Volume 7 of Shizuru Seino's Girl Got Game would be very much appreciated. 


	2. The First Night

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.  
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. Count D appears in this chapter! And Chris! Oh, yes, and in case you didn't know, this is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic.  
  
Delirium by spare  
  
Chapter 2: The First Night  
  
_/A face identical to his. Except hers wore an expression of utter heartbreak, and his was one of sadness and pity. And fear. Yes, he was very much afraid. "Xiao Mei..." he began, trying once more to placate her, to explain to her everything she refused to know. "I... I'm sorry." He sighed, drawing her closer. "Now, listen to me very carefully..."  
  
Nue Ehr lunged at him then. He evaded most of the blow, but she was agile. Razor sharp nails grazed his neck. She licked the blood -- his blood -- dripping down her fingers.  
  
He stared at her in shock. "Xiao... Xiao Mei...?"  
  
Her face was a tragic combination of childlike innocence and complete lunacy. A face that so resembled his. "If Da Geh doesn't need me," she uttered, "then I don't need Da Geh!"  
  
She launched herself at him then. "With Da Geh gone, maybe Daddy will like me the most!"  
  
The pets fell upon her in an instant.  
  
The order to stop them died on his lips. He had to watch as the pets hacked her to pieces. It seemed to go on forever, but, finally, they were done.  
  
She lay there on the floor like a broken doll. She was covered all over with cuts and gashes. Her back was hacked open.  
  
/Xiao Mei.../  
  
Her eyes. He could never forget how they looked right then, shining with such unquestioning love and trust for Father.  
  
And he was partly to blame. In the end, he could not bring himself to shatter such faith by exposing the truth about their Father. In the end, he was forced to tell her comforting lies, cradling her in his arms as the life faded from those innocent eyes.  
  
Mismatched eyes, one golden, the other violet, flutter open. He sat up over the bed, the pearl-gray robe he wore clinging to his spare, graceful form. As the last vestiges of sleep left his eyelids he became aware that, of course, he had been dreaming. Not that it would make any difference to their kind whichever state they were in. It was real, all the same. His feelings made it real.  
  
/Damn you, Father.../  
_  
x x x  
  
[LAPD Headquarters, 1:27 pm.]  
  
"I don't believe any of this."  
  
"You better," the guy at the forensics lab sighed, running a hand through a shock of carrot-colored hair. "I spend half the night running through the tests, and /this/ is what I get? Screw you. Gomez, too. Tell him that, if you ever see the bastard."  
  
"Tell him yourself," Leon retorted tiredly. Gomez had been sent another case to work on -- that of the chopped up body parts of an as yet unidentified woman turning up at different suburban landmarks. The pimple-ridden kid whose ID read Ike Keiferson, Jr. knew that as well as he did.  
  
Earlier this morning, Leon had made his way upstairs, cursing quietly to himself, fresh from an hour-long lecture about proper police procedure that, in Orcot's case, had to be summarized as: keep your hands off the evidence, dammit. The Chief had raised hell once he found out about his little mishap with the plant. And that not six seconds after inquiring about Leon's health in a fatherly tone of voice. Upon confirmation that his subordinate was hale and hearty, so to speak, the police chief had proceeded to give him the upbraiding of his life.  
  
Freed at last, he had headed to the department's forensics lab.  
  
The plant had deteriorated at an alarmingly fast rate. He and Gomez watched as all around them, the plant-thing shrouding Renaud's apartment browned and withered and crumpled, its narrow leaves weightlessly swirling about before settling down and breaking away into dust -- and then, into nothing. The branches followed suit. It was as if the very air around them had become fire, igniting and destroying any part of the plant it touched. By the time the other cops arrived at the scene, not a trace of the monstrous thing could be found. If not for one respected book agent's testimony and the fact that he and another officer had seen it with their own eyes, Leon wouldn't have believed the plant that ate the novelist was ever there.  
  
It had all been as clear as day. Somehow, Sean Renaud had acquired a plant that, quite literally, grew on him a little too much. It was a bizarre, macabre, and utterly horrible way to die. And when it came to bizarre, macabre and horrible deaths, who else was much connected to the subject than the Count and his petshop of horrors? It /was/ a plant that did the author in, to be sure, but hadn't the petshop owner given him flowers and other weirder things with leaves on several occasions? The stuff had not killed him (/yet/, he mentally reminded himself), true, but who knows what other types the Count could have given to his other customers?  
  
This might just be the case to nail D down once and for all.  
  
Now this carrot-haired runt was telling him that, as a point of fact, it was not the plant that killed the famous author. Rather, it was...  
  
"There were patches of semen on his genitals, as well as the front of his pants," the kid insisted in earnest. "Loads of it."  
  
Leon shot him an incredulous look. "So you're telling me this guy was killed by a wet dream? Jesus..."  
  
Keiferson junior was quiet for a moment. Finally, he shook his head. "Not exactly," he said. Hesitating, he continued, "Traces of pollen were found in what was left of his stomach and intestines. The substance is slow to act, but highly toxic. In Renaud's case, it took about three weeks for it to fatally affect his system, but--"  
  
"I knew it!" Leon exclaimed triumphantly.  
  
"Knew what?" the forensics guy inquired.  
  
He wasn't getting any replies, however. Leon had bolted out of there before he could even utter the first half of his question.  
  
x x x  
  
[Count D's Petshop, 2:41 pm.]  
  
An insistent knocking on the ornate double door.  
  
Bang. Bang. BANG!  
  
Unhurried, a tall, slender figure attended to it.  
  
Creak.  
  
"D!!!"  
  
"And a good afternoon to you, too, my dear Detective."  
  
/"Big Bro!!!"/ A seven-year-old, mirror version of said LAPD operative rushed to the door, tackling down the elder Orcot by way of welcome.  
  
Leon barely managed a surprised yelp before the other animals trailing behind his sibling followed suit.  
  
"Your timing is perfect, as usual. We were just about to have tea," the Count declared, his faintly accented voice conveying a quiet amusement at the display of brotherly affection.  
  
/"We baked cookies!"/ Chris piped in helpfully. Noticing that T-chan was conveniently positioned right where he could block the blonde officer's windpipe, the boy quickly pulled the struggling totetsu away as he and the other pets extricated themselves from aniki's (1) prone, swirly-eyed and twitching form on the floor. /"Uh, sorry 'bout that, bro..."/  
  
"Hehe, no prob, Chris!" Leon said dismissively, pushing himself back up to standing position and ruffling his kid brother's hair fondly. "Looks like you've gotten stronger since the last time I was here. What has the Count been feeding you, eh?"  
  
"Better than what you have been previously providing him, apparently," the dark-haired petshop owner commented behind them.  
  
A vein instantly pulsed to visibility on Leon's forehead. "And what's THAT supposed to mean?!" he asked, glaring.  
  
"Nothing at all, Detective," Count D purred with laughing eyes, a satisfied smile crossing painted lips.  
  
The Detective blushed inspite of himself. /Damn that all-knowing smile of his/, he cursed inwardly. He forced his mind back to the original reason for today's visit.  
  
"Chris, could you and T-chan run back to the kitchen? The cookies would be done in a few more minutes, as well as the tea," the Count was saying.  
  
Chris nodded. /"Alright!"/  
  
The petshop owner watched both boy and totetsu leave for the kitchen before turning again to face the elder Orcot. "So, officer, what would it be this time?" he calmly asked, taking a seat on the plush oriental sofa in the middle of the room.  
  
/Damned mind reader, too/, Leon added. "Seems I don't need to beat around the bush, do I?" he began.  
  
"You were never one to do so," D retorted.  
  
The blonde-haired man ignored him. "Alright then," he sighed, face turning serious. "Count, I'm arresting you for the untimely death of Sean Renaud."  
  
A pause. "Who?"  
  
Leon snorted. "Playing innocent, are you?"  
  
The Count shot him a disdainful look. "Don't be ridiculous. I've hardly any idea what you speak of. Who is this individual you just mentioned?"  
  
"Sean Renaud. He's a famous writer of romance novels. Goes by the pseudonym Jacques Marcel."  
  
"Ah, /that/ novelist."  
  
"You know him!" Leon blurted out in accusation.  
  
He was rewarded by a flippant blink. "Why shouldn't I? I have always enjoyed reading his books. His current novel is a particular favorite of mine. A truly enchanting love story," the petshop owner recounted breathlessly. "I eagerly await his next book."  
  
The detective continued eyeing him. "He won't be writing any time soon. Ol' Renaud was found dead in his apartment yesterday morning."  
  
The Count's face remained frustratingly impassive. "I see. Quite unfortunate."  
  
"That's all you have to say?!"  
  
"Well, what else is there for me to declare?"  
  
/A confession, dammit./ "For one thing, tell me whether you've sold any of your freak plants lately to the guy."  
  
D shook his head. "It is a pity, but he has never visited this shop. Which, incidentally, is a /pet/ shop, my dear detective."  
  
"You've given me plants before," Leon relentlessly pushed on.  
  
A pained look crossed the Count's face. "All of which you failed to keep alive for more than a couple of weeks. Yes, I remember."  
  
"That's not the point!"  
  
"Then what is?" Count D asked tartly. "Detective, perhaps it would be better for both of us if you would calmly explain to me the nature of Mr. Marcel's death? Your baseless accusations are getting us nowhere."  
  
Leon took a deep breath, finally plopping down on a seat across him. "It was the plant."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Some freak plant did him in," the Detective clarified. "Narrow leaves, with veins all over them. Weird bulb things growing at the bottom. Overrun the place." He paused, noticing, the change, however slight, in the Count's expression. "Sound familiar?"  
  
"/Fatal Desire/." The petshop owner's voice was muted, his gaze far away and unreadable.  
  
"What?"  
  
"/Fatal Desire/," he repeated. "That is the plant's name, Detective. And that is all that I am of liberty to tell you. I am sorry, but I can not speak further on the matter," the Count declared, standing up abruptly.  
  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?!"  
  
D looked down at him, mismatched eyes meeting his glare. "I would tell you no more. It is not my place--"  
  
Leon grabbed his arm. "You're withholding information that may prove vital to a case, D."  
  
"Officer, you know as well as I do you cannot force my cooperation."  
  
He suddenly felt the urge to shake some sense into the man. "What the hell are you--"  
  
"Please, Leon," Count D interceded.  
  
The Detective blinked. Was he hearing things, or had the Count pleaded with him just now? He looked down. Count D held both of his hands over his. His touch was warm and soothing even as it implored him as much as the petshop owner's amethyst-and-golden gaze did.  
  
/His touch./  
  
"A-alright, alright!" Leon conceded, pulling away from the contact as if it seared him. His cheeks burned for the second time that day, even as a familiar heat suffused the rest of his features. Accompanied, as it usually was, by a sudden tightening in the front of his pants. /What in the--?/  
  
"The cookies are here!" Pon-chan happily exclaimed, bursting into the room. Chris kept pace behind the pet, balancing a lacquered tray filled with cups, a steaming pot of tea, and freshly baked oatmeal and raisin cookies. Liberally dusted with sugar, of course.  
  
"The little squirt almost chipped the pot, Count," T-chan announced, padding close by. Taking note of the telltale blush on the Detective's face, the totetsu continued, "Were we interrupting anything?"  
  
"No, you weren't," the Count replied, stepping forward. A pleased smile lit up his countenance. "Ah, good. And here I was beginning to think the cookies would never arrive. Come, let's see how these turned out."  
  
Chris rubbed the back of his head, a bashful grin appearing on his face. /"We already did. They taste awesome."/ He approached Leon, who remained seated, one leg crossed over the other. The boy held the tray's contents out to him. /"Try one, big bro!"/  
  
"Sure would," the Detective replied, picking up one cookie. "They're still warm," he noted. /What had happened just now?/ he thought, casting one final glance in D's direction. The Count appeared oblivious to Leon's current predicament. The hard ridge between his legs was beginning to flag down, thankfully enough. A few more minutes and he could save himself the embarrassment. He sure as hell wouldn't stand up till then. To leave, most probably. Nodding resolutely to himself, he bit into the cookie, feeling inexplicably relieved as the taste of sugar and raisin washed over his mouth. "Hey, they're pretty good." He wolfed down the rest of the cookie, proceeding to reach for another one.  
  
"Leave some for the rest of us," Pon-chan remarked, huffing cutely.  
  
x x x  
  
[Leon's Apartment, 9:34 pm.]  
  
It was already half-past nine in the evening when Leon finally made it back to his own apartment. He felt dead tired, but then, it had been a rather busy day, even for him. Wandering back to the station he'd received a call for backup for a hostage situation occurring just three blocks ahead, and, as it turned out, twelve stories up. Apprehending the icepick-armed punk turned out to be way easier than climbing all the way up to the twelfth floor (the criminal had cut the elevator cables) to do so. Then came the matter of typing up the police reports he never seemed to run out of lately. Miraculously, he managed to finish a couple before calling it a day.  
  
All in all, yet another busy day in the service of the Los Angeles citizenry. Trying and eventful enough to perhaps forget about that little incident back at D's petshop, where Leon had, quite inexplicably, developed one of the quickest boners he'd had in years, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
For one thing, no matter what he did, it continued to pester him the rest of the afternoon, as had the Count's rather odd behavior upon mention of the plant. For some reason the Detective would rather not explore, the latter didn't seem to occupy his mind as frequently as the former.  
  
/His touch./  
  
He slammed the door shut. He ignored the obscenities the fat guy at the neighboring apartment threw at him a wall away, relishing instead the brief respite the act gave him. /What's wrong with me?/ he thought.  
  
Locking up for the night, he headed straight to his bedroom, fully intending to sleep it -- whatever /it/ was -- off. The ladies in the posters -- the ones that had escaped D's earlier housecleaning rampages and the new ones he'd put up -- all smiled and winked seductively at him, as always, assuring him that everything was going to be alright.  
  
Tomorrow, he would be fine. He would be back to normal, ready as ever to take on the Count. Yes, tomorrow he would get his answers regarding the plant that killed Renaud, boner or no boner. The latter, preferably. Of course.  
  
Those resolutions in mind, Leon threw himself over the unmade bed. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.  
  
x x x  
  
_/He dreamed.  
  
Nothing new about that; he almost always dreamed every night, no matter how exhausted he was, or wasted. The setting of this particular reverie was familiar, too; a vast desert landscape, the sands glittering like diamonds from the somber light of a full moon. From somewhere near, the sound of water.  
  
He followed the sound, as he always had, and came to a grove of slender palms and rocks cracked by moss and lichen. At the center was a spring, pure and inky black as the night sky it reflected.  
  
There was someone in the spring, he realized; a pale, lithe figure, dressed in nothing but moonlight. A body perfectly white and pure as a lily, droplets of water trickling sensuously down every arch and curve of flawless skin.  
  
The figure suddenly turned, as if sensing the presence of another, and soon he found himself staring into a pair of mismatched eyes, gold and purple orbs which held his gaze as one slender finger traced a slow, teasing path from the stranger's neck, to the chest, and lower.  
  
He couldn't move fast enough. Drunkenly, desperately, he moved to where the stranger was, lean legs splashing awkwardly in the shallow waters.  
  
The figure met him halfway.  
  
It was then that he finally admitted to himself that the figure was no stranger.  
  
For it was /him/.  
  
Growling low in his throat, he reached for the figure, crushing painted lips to his in one soul-robbing kiss; a mouth that tasted warm and sweet and ultimately inviting as he tangled his fingers through hair black as the very night itself. He pressed their bodies close, acknowledging the sensation of skin against skin with a hiss. His hands wandered lower, caressing the graceful expanse of his partner's smooth back, and lower still, cupping his ass. His lover ground lean hips to his in response, impatiently, urgently, hands applying what his own hands did to where he was rock hard and needy. He uttered a hoarse cry, moving immediately in compliance with the silent demand.  
  
And then they were one.  
  
And he found paradise in the other's arms.  
  
And he allowed the water to sooth his spent muscles as they lay by the edge of the spring, a tangle of arms and limbs under the solemn gaze of the moon.  
  
/"D..."/_  
  
x x x  
  
Author's Ramblings: How's that for a second chappie? Personally, I think D and Leon's exchange turned out too long. For that matter, I think this ENTIRE chapter turned out too long. My pacing sucks. Argh! In writing the dream sequence at the start of this chapter, I've also skipped some passages from the last few panels of the Donor episode in Vol. 7 (Right? Right???) of PSoH. As to the next chapter, I think I won't be able to upload it for two or three weeks, since I have two Economics exams to contend with, plus in-class reports. Please bear with the delay!  
  
Also, thanks to Elana-chan (a.k.a. Jedi Anna Santiago of #61 Apacible St. Area-3 UP Diliman Quezon City... :D) for beta-reading.  
  
(1) aniki - older brother 


	3. The Morning After

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.   
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. In case the little dream sequence at the end of the preceding chappie didn't clue you in yet, this is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic. 

Delirium

by spare

Chapter 3: The Morning After

_She had been waiting for him._

_It was cool and dark where she sat, deep green tresses a silken curtain framing a petite, olive-skinned frame. Today, because spring has just ended, her eyes were a muted gray. She smiled a smile that did not reach them._

_"This could be my last summer," she had said after the usual greetings and inquiries were behind them, her voice growing soft. But only a little bit. "I will follow them, soon. You will hold your little ritual after it happens, won't you? In honor of my passing?"_

_He bowed his head slightly. "I shall do that, yes."_

_A sigh. "I could hope for no more. Indeed, it is a miracle I have survived this long. Seven years..." She shook her head ruefully. "My kind would be considered lucky to live for three."_

_She allowed herself to be cradled in his arms, leisurely tracing the lacy edges of the robe he wore as his slim hand stroked her hair soothingly._

_A thought seemed to occur to her, then, and she peered back up at him in earnest. "Tell me..." Kneeling, she leaned over to where he sat, spindly, childlike fingers reaching out to touch the delicate ivory of his chin. "What does it feel like... to go on... forever?"_

_Her eyes held his gaze, searching his face for answers. Finding none, she turned away. "No. Never mind," she finally acquiesced, drawing her hand away. "Forget I ever asked. I..." She blinked. "One such as I would never quite understand it."_

_She smiled again, brightly, and it would have been spring once again, if only her eyes were not the color of storm clouds and the curve of her lips did not wobble at the corners, as they did right now. "I would never understand it," she repeated. She turned her face to his again. Her gray eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Isn't that right, Count D?"_

x x x

Count D's Pet Shop, 6:07 am.

He had woken up earlier than he was accustomed to. Outside, the sky was still dark, and overcast with the promise of rain. A brief downpour, really. Enough to wash away some of the dirt and grime that clung like a death shroud over the city.

Unable to go back to sleep, he had gotten out of bed, dressed, opting for a robe of white lilies embroidered on a backdrop of rich blue silk, and, having nothing better to do, prepared some tea.

That had been almost an hour ago. The tea had grown cold, the fragrant liquid undisturbed within the delicately painted porcelain cup. And here he still was, sitting in the pet shop's dimly lit office, a stack of scrolls arranged neatly on one side of the mahogany desk before him, the untouched tray of tea on the other.

It was quiet. Maybe too quiet. The store's inhabitants were still deep in slumber; at least, those who were not nocturnal. He considered checking on Sita. Had her hunt been successful? Agame was certainly silent this morning. Perhaps he and Kirara had finally mated. It had been three months since the courtship... The Count sighed, long, tapered fingers tapping the burnished surface of the table, but did not leave his seat.

Earlier, he had sent Q-chan to look in on Leon's brother. It was unneeded; Chris was asleep in his room just three doors down, Pon-chan nuzzled comfortably on his left shoulder, Tet-chan snoring softly at the foot of the bed. He only wanted to be alone during this hour, be provided a respite, however brief, to gather his thoughts.

For, like it or not, the Detective's words from the day before troubled him. The American's visit had been so routine -- the brash officer barging in unannounced and uninvited, blue eyes as determined as they were full of accusation, and him taking the other's verbal assaults in stride, parrying each statement almost effortlessly.

Until Detective Orcot described the manner of creature that had caused the author's death.

Fatal Desire.

So he had said it. The name he had not expected to utter ever again, lo these many years. But how could that be so? It has been fifteen years since her passing. He had felt it, had mourned it. As he had promised.

_"Narrow leaves, with veins all over them. Weird bulb things growing at the bottom. Overrun the place."_

Yet the Detective had accurately described the plant. There could be no other.

_"Some freak plant did him in."_

And the creature had fed.

He paused, fingers settling at last over the desk. She -- for it was most certainly a she -- had fed.

And what came after that? Did it brown and wither in the blink of an eye, having at last sated its hunger?

He closed his eyes.

_"This could be my last summer."_

Did it die?

"Of course, it did," D declared, at once opening his eyes. He could feel a sharp sting in his right palm. His right hand had curled into a fist, long, claw-like nails digging into the pale flesh. His mismatched gaze fell upon it, disbelievingly, and he immediately relaxed his grip once again. Droplets of blood seeped out from where his nails had torn through the skin.

"Kyu?"

"Q-chan," he greeted gently, looking up at the Valvertinger rabbit as it flew through the open doorway, a worried look on its face. "No, nothing is the matter. I was just... thinking aloud."

"Kyu..."

The Count smiled. "I see. So T-chan is awake?"

"Kyu."

"Let us leave the kitchen to him, then," he noted agreeably. He stood up, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on his robes, and calmly headed for the door. "In the meantime, I think we should go down and see how Agame has fared, shouldn't we?"

x x x

Leon Orcot's Apartment, 6:18 am.

Leon woke up the way he always did on workdays. He sat up, right arm groping for the small alarm clock he usually placed at the edge of the bedside table, pounded on it. The top was already depressed. Right. He'd forgotten to set it last night. He had been too tired. Still was. A bit worse, actually. His head throbbed, his muscles ached, his throat felt like he'd swallowed a day's worth of rock salt, and his thighs and belly were wet and... sticky.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It all came back to him then, bits and pieces reassembling to form one coherent whole, driving sleep from his mind as effectively as if he'd been doused by a bucket of cold water. His dream. The spring. And...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Narrow, cat-like eyes, peering out at him from beneath sooty lashes. Lush, sensuous lips. A pale, slender body gleaming in the moonlight.

He had... He actually had...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Leon groaned, his face a mixture of disgust and disbelief, looking down at the drying mess on his lap. He'd come. Pretty hard, if the whitish stuff spattered on his stomach and thighs (and the sheets, oh, hell, the friggin' sheets) were any indication.

Muttering another string of curses, he eased his legs off the bed, fishing out a half-squashed box of tissues from the heavily cluttered surface of the bedside table. He cleaned himself off quickly, efficiently, trying his darnedest not to think--

_about last night or catlike eyes or narrow hips or, or -- oh, screw it_

-- about anything.

He took a deep breath.

Blank it all out as he went about his business. There. Shit.

By the time he was done, he'd used up the entire box of tissues. He threw the last of the stuff to join the growing pile in the trash bin, undressed, (still not thinking about anything, anything at all, certainly not about whatever he may or may not have dreamed doing with the Count) deposited the soiled bundle of night clothes in the laundry basket.

A nice, cold shower, that was what he needed. He grabbed a towel off the chair he'd hung it on yesterday, headed straight to the bathroom, and twisted the nozzle full blast. The water stung, a thousand icy needles piercing his skin, and he stood there for some time, shivering, eyes closed, head bowed. It was only when he finally let his eyes open that he allowed himself to return to the subject he had so surreptitiously evaded.

_I've just had a dream about the Count._ His mind stated it as simply, as calmly, as it could. _A wet one._ He turned the shower off and toweled himself dry. A quick glance at the mirror told him he needed a shave, and that he did, even as his mental tirade continued mercilessly on.

_You've caved in at last, Orcot,_ he thought gloomily. All those other nights of staying awake, flat on his back, scowling in frustration at the posters and magazines that were not doing the trick, have not been doing it for him for two whole months. Trying to ignore the hardness between his legs, knowing full well that the best images his mind could conjure of late were lush, painted lips curved up in a knowing, teasing smile and those damned mismatched eyes glittering, daring him through a curtain of jet black hair. All those mornings spent telling himself he'd certainly not been doing that, had not been fantasizing about the pet shop owner, no sir. All those afternoons denying it ever happened.

And what the hell had all that been for, in the end?

"Not a single fucking thing, that's what," he blurted aloud. Or tried to. He'd managed as far as "Not a--" before a harsh yelp escaped his lips. He forced his gaze back at his reflection on the bathroom mirror, where a thin red line was rapidly swelling with blood just below his left cheekbone. He'd cut himself. Jesus.

_This is all your goddamn fault, D_, he inwardly swore, splashing water on his face, over the wound. He finished shaving as best as he can, and ambled back to his room. Because if it wasn't, then it would be his. Hell, maybe it wasn't anyone's fault. He didn't know when he'd progressed from obsessing about nailing D's ass for homicide and drug-trafficking to obsessing about nailing D's ass up the wall, milky-white legs anchored to his waist as Leon moved between them, but he knew he hadn't gotten a good night's lay for longer than any healthy male of twenty-something can go without. Maybe it was... a reaction, or something.

Yes, that was it, he breathed, pulling on his jeans and a loose shirt. The thought calmed him somewhat, even though he still decidedly felt less than fresh as a daisy. He stepped out of his apartment, and was halfway to the ground floor before he realized he didn't have any shoes on.

He groaned. It was going to be one of those mornings.

x x x

LAPD Headquarters, 9:21 am.

"You're late," Jill announced from where she sat atop the cluttered haven that served as her desk, one leg crossed over the other, an open folder balanced on her lap.

"Just twenty minutes," Leon said shortly. Ignoring the odd look his colleague was giving him, he headed over to his own table. Lurched. His head didn't throb anymore, but it felt fuzzy, like he'd been drinking the night before, and his back and leg muscles still felt sore. And he felt warm. So warm. Fever-warm. It was nothing he couldn't handle, sure; he'd had worse before, _worked_ through worse before, but heck...

_Shouldn't have taken that shower_, he thought, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if he could loosen it up further, and took his seat. The churning feeling in his stomach told him he should have grabbed a bite to eat on the way over.

"You're never late," Jill continued, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "What's up?" A knowing smirk crept across her features. "Had us a little detour at the pet shop before heading off to work?"

"No, I didn't." He shot her a glare. "Knock it off, Jill." He wouldn't have any of that, not this morning. Christ. He raked a hand through his hair, proceeding to pore through the paperwork he'd left off yesterday.

She feigned a pout. "Well, aren't we grumpy this morning." She picked up the folder and stood up, walking to where he was. "Here." She handed him the folder. "Jules told me to give you this."

"Gomez?"

Jill nodded. "The Chief's brought me into the Marcel case, too." She sniffed, rubbing her temple. "Terrible business, one of my all-time favorite authors up and croaking like... like that. And-- hey, is that a cut?" Frowning, she craned her head forward to examine the wound. "Nasty," she commented, clucking her tongue. "What happened?"

"Cut myself while shaving," Leon retorted, frowning back. The what case? Then it clicked. Right. Sean Renaud, a.k.a. Jacques Marcel. The dead writer guy. _Stupid head cold's getting in the way_. "Anyway, what have we got?"

"It's all in there," she declared, indicating the folder. "But better you hear it straight, right? No, Marcel didn't buy it from a pet shop in Chinatown, Leon," she quipped.

He resisted the urge to glare daggers at her. "Yeah. Found that out yesterday." Right before the crazy incident when he got the quickest hard-ons he'd had since high school. And the dream. And this morning.

"The freak plant was a gift. Arrived the day his agent left him."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Not the same agent who found the body?"

"The one and the same," Jill affirmed. "She and Marcel had a falling out, according to his cleaning lady. The plant came in just minutes after she'd stormed out of his place. No note as to whom it came from, but Marcel seemed to be all excited when it arrived. He sent Corazon -- that's the cleaning lady's name -- away shortly afterwards, so all the info we get ends right about there, but here's a weird thing. Corazon distinctly remembers Marcel repeatedly calling the plant 'Diane'."

"So?"

"Diane is the name of Marcel's ex-girlfriend." She paused. "Was. The girl's been dead for over a year."

Leon whistled. "Don't tell me Renaud's another Ethan Grey." (2)

"Could be," Jill agreed, shrugging. "Of course, now we may never really find out, since you just about up and destroyed the evidence..."

"It was an accident," he protested. "How the hell was I to know it would--"

"Yeah, ok, cool down," She interrupted with a chuckle. "Really, Leon, you're too easy to tease. The Count must have a ball with you."

He fought down a blush, failed. "He does not--"

"Hit a nerve, didn't I?"

"Whatever," Leon sighed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Jill pointed again to the folder. "Well then, read up, cowboy," she drawled, patting his back. She stopped, suddenly, drawing her arm away. "Hey, you're warm." Frowning, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Jesus, you're burning!"

_I am?_ He waved her off. "I could manage." To prove his point, he picked up the case folder, proceeding to leaf through its contents. "Have a nice morning, Jill."

The woman merely shrugged. "It's your body if you want to abuse it," she said, making her way to the main door. "And you're holding the folder upside down." With that as a parting shot, Jill sashayed out of the room.

Leon cursed, righted the folder, and pulled at the neck of his shirt again.

x x x

Author's Rants: Hey there. I attribute this chapter's long delay firstly to schoolwork, secondly to the copy of Phantom Brave my little brother just had to go and get me hooked into playing, and thirdly to a REALLY screwy computer that takes about half an hour to start up, one hour to work properly, and has a penchant for crashing somewhere in the middle of that. I know it's a little late to say this, but thank you for your comments! I need them, obviously. Oh, and I'm afraid the fourth chapter will come out after two weeks at the earliest. (Ducks before tomatoes and other more hurtful projectiles are thrown her way.)

(2) From the Delicious episode in Volume 2.


	4. The Dream Within

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.   
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. As things will get delirious (heehee) henceforth, I won't post (Place, Time) notices at the start of every section any more. The R rating is there for a reason, kiddies; this is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic. 

Delirium

by spare

Chapter 4: The Dream Within

"Detective...?"

A warm hand pressing lightly, tentatively on his shoulder. A faint, familiar scent. Incense, he knew that much. And something else mixed in. Roses? He breathed deeply. Not that he knew any other flowers that smelled good beyond that...

"Detective."

The voice, more urgent, if a bit annoyed, this time. The hand grasping his shoulder was now shaking it gently, shaking him -- he opened his eyes --

Awake.

The Count's face hovered inches above his, mismatched eyes peering down at him curiously. Having fulfilled its duty, the slim hand resting on his shoulder released him with a flick of a graceful wrist. "You were unable to catch sufficient sleep last night, I presume?" D inquired.

Leon frowned, blinking back the sleep from his eyes. He looked around in confusion. Last thing he remembered, he'd been at the department, running through a report as well as a goddamn fever. Gingerly, he touched the side of his neck. Temperature pretty normal. He felt OK now, too. Dazed, and a bit light-headed, but that could be expected if you've been dozing off, right? However, that didn't explain why he suddenly woke up _here_.

In D's pet shop.

For it _was_ the shop, bird cages, antiques, velvety curtains and all. Leon sat at his usual place on the wide sofa, A teapot, two delicately painted porcelain cups and a plate of fancy-looking fruit tarts laid out on the low center table before him. A regular day at D's, except that he couldn't remember how he got here at all and... Something else. Something he couldn't put a finger on.

D stood to Leon's right, the pet shop owner's hands tucked away from view beneath the wide sleeves of the latest girly outfit he was wearing. Dress looked even girlier than usual, too. Silk, from the looks of it, and pretty thin, considering how it draped over the Count's slight frame like water poured over stone. Birds and flowers embroidered over a backdrop of green, with black lace adorning the cuffs and edges. Leon grimaced. /Lace/, for Christ's sake. "What the... what the hell am I doing here?" he asked aloud. "I was at the station..."

The Count blinked as if the question, and Leon's behavior in general, surprised him. "You came over to visit, as usual." One amber eye glittered at him through the curtain of black hair that almost always hid the right half of his face. "You had another case that you wished to discuss. At least, that is what you told me."

"I did?" Now that he mentioned it, Leon /did/ have a case he wanted to bug D about. Badly. However, for some strange reason, he couldn't remember what it was about. He remembered the report he'd been reading earlier was related to it, though. Apart from that... His frown deepened, racking his brain and coming up with... Nothing. Fuck it! Why couldn't he remember?!

Frustrated, Leon looked around the room again. It was late in the afternoon, from the looks of it. Tea time, but it was always tea time at D's shop, give or take a few special exceptions, like when he and Chris arrived at the shop and he'd found that badly mauled monkey laying dead in the pet shop owner's arms (3). You couldn't have tea after seeing that. And D had seemed all depressed after that; the guy knew how to put up his usual serene front, but Leon had learned through much practice how to tell each smirk apart. It occurred to him that it was more than a bit ironic that he could remember these shit when he couldn't put a finger on the one that was frying his brain right now, but he shelved the thought away for the moment. Good thing Chris hadn't seen the corpse...

Wait. "Where's Chris?" he asked suddenly, that 'something-he-couldn't-put-a-finger-on' hitting him at last. Hard. The shop. It was too quiet. No animals in sight, not even that annoying flying furball D kept as a pet. And, more importantly, no Chris. The place had become pretty noisy, in a good way, these last few months, what with the four- and two-legged menagerie that followed his kid brother around. And now...

"He is off to Cathy's," D answered promptly, giving him another odd look. "You yourself saw him leave just a few minutes ago. Then I went to the kitchen to prepare some tea, and when I came back I found you asleep."

"The, uh, animals? That goat thing with fangs you keep around... And that rabbit with batwings..."

"Oh, them. Q-chan is taking a nap. The others are at the back of the shop. Detective, are you ill?" D continued, dark brows arching just the tiniest bit in concern. "This is more than simple exhaustion you are feeling, isn't it?"

Leon stared at D for the longest time, trying to weigh it all down. The Count stared back. "I am, I guess," Leon finally acceded, breaking away from the other man's gaze.

"You need to rest," D informed him, turning away as well. "How fortunate," he added, voice dropping just the tiniest bit, "that we are the only ones here right now." At this, Leon's gaze swerved back in the Count's direction. The pet shop owner was bent over slightly, calmly pouring tea for them both, as if he'd uttered nothing out of the ordinary. "Here you go, Detective," D said, when he was done, holding out one cup to the blond officer. "Perhaps some tea would make you feel better?" He smiled. Smirked. That inscrutable, 'I-know-something-you-don't' smirk that drove Leon nuts.

Usually. Right now he was willing to let it pass, if for no other reason than he realized, quite suddenly, that he was thirsty as hell.

Muttering his thanks, Leon lifted the proffered cup to his lips, taking a small sip. It was black and absolutely sugar-free, just the way he liked it. Sighing appreciatively, he gulped down the rest of the tea. D's infuriating little smirk seemed to grow wider as he did so, but Leon ignored it for the moment, letting his eyes fall shut. The hot liquid sliding down his parched throat felt like a blessing. God. The cup drained of its contents, he placed it back down on the table, dropped his arms, tilted his head back, and almost jumped out of his seat when he felt two hands rest lightly on his shoulders.

"What the -- What the hell are you doing?!?" Leon sputtered, eyes snapping open and looking back and up to find the Count's ever-impassive countenance regarding him with yet another teasing half-smile. D had moved behind him, apparently, and his hands were steadily stroking... his... back. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!!" Leon yelled again. He tried to move away, but the other man's hands went back to grip both of his shoulders, gently yet firmly keeping him in place.

"Language, my dear Detective," the Count admonished, the soft palms sliding over his shoulders taking the edge off the rebuke. "Surely you would not object to my giving you a massage? To help you relax." He punctuated the remark by pressing one thumb downward in slow, soothing circles, the tip of D's nail scratching Leon's skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. Leon shivered in spite of himself.

"I--" Leon began, then stopped, because he suddenly couldn't remember what he was going to say, because D decided just then to ghost his fingers along the sensitive area at the back of his neck, eliciting a startled gasp Leon couldn't choke down in time.

"I am quite adept at this, don't you think?" A genteel chuckle escaped D's lips. "Your muscles are so tense, Detective. I was hoping the tea would have relaxed your senses a bit. But no matter. Perhaps this would suffice." Warm hands traveled downwards to the area just above his shoulder blades. Leon arched his back at the contact. This was... Was it him, or did the air feel thicker than when he first woke up? He swallowed, remembered he was trying to move away, tried to pull himself up with both arms to stand up and off the seat, failed. His arms and legs twitched once, twice, then refused to follow through.

He couldn't move, he realized. What the heck did D put in the tea?

"What is the matter, Detective?" The Count breathed softly in Leon's ear, even as his hands continued to explore his back. It made him shiver again, which prompted him to try and squirm away again, a command that went unheeded by the rest of Orcot's body. "You do not like my touch?"

No. Hell, no. The matter was that he didn't /not/ like it, D's touch, and that the slim, graceful fingers kneading the muscles of his upper back through the coarse material of his t-shirt felt good. Maybe a little too good, he added, noticing that while his limbs were relaxed and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, another part of his body was rising up and standing at attention. Christ, if D so much as looked over Leon's shoulder, he'd be able to--

"Oh, my."

Shit. Leon willed his arms and legs to move again, hard-- with more effort than before, once again, without success. The hands promptly abandoned his back, and Leon didn't know whether to sigh in relief or to howl out in frustration, but then a silk-garbed silhouette swam into his line of vision.

The Count had circled round to stand directly before him, head tilted quizzically to the left as one amber eye glittered through a curtain of black hair, studying his lap intently. "What do we have here?" D asked, his melodious voice adopting an even more teasing note as his eyes drank in the sight. The pet shop owner leaned forward, tracing one delicate, clawed fingertip over where Leon was tenting the front of his pants.

Leon shuddered at the touch, making a sound deep in his throat even as the part of his mind that wasn't too fuzzed down made a fleeting, futile attempt to come up with excuses, until a mouth descended over his and Leon found himself staring directly into narrow catlike eyes, one a deep purple, the other gold. A warm tongue slipped between his already parted lips, and it finally kicked in; D was kissing him. Open-mouthed and all. And D was warm and sweet and something else, a mouth that tasted of chocolate milk and water and something thoroughly addictive since Leon found he couldn't get enough of it. He couldn't stop, couldn't even bother to close his eyes.

The cloying scent of flowers and incense was stronger now, and he still sat immobile on the sofa, but it didn't matter because he was kissing D, and D tasted like heaven, and he was looking into D's eyes. They were bright and languid and beautiful, as always, flecked with green from the light. D had undone the top button of his jeans, and was pulling the zipper down, while the other hand had crept beneath his shirt to caress his chest. Leon groaned into their kiss as he sprang free and D was--

"--en he comes to."

Leon opened his eyes, hurriedly narrowing them to slits from the harsh glare of the fluorescent bulb affixed on the ceiling above him.

He could hear people talking somewhere else in the room, but he couldn't see them, not with the gauzy curtain blocking his line of vision. Red thrummed behind his eyelids even as he could feel his head throb in steady, maddening beats. He was covered in sweat, tendrils of blond hair sticking to the sides of his face and neck, and he was burning. He lay there in a narrow bed with a messed-up sheet and a hard-on that wasn't going down as quickly as he'd wish for it to, which meant that he'd been dreaming (again), and it was about Count fucking D (again), only this time it had been a lot more vivid than any he'd had before, no shit, which meant that he was in for a truckload of trouble.

Somebody shoved the curtain aside, and Jill's fair head popped in to look him over. "About time you woke up." She took a step back, and now Leon could see the eye chart posted on the wall behind her, as well as the dep nurse standing to her left. He'd been out pretty long, too. The clock propped on top of the medicine cabinet read a little after four pm.

"'I could manage,' he says," Jill intoned. "'Have a nice morning,' he says." She squared her arms, shaking her head ruefully. "Look where your stubborn little head got you."

"I'm--" Well, so he wasn't exactly fine. "I'll be fine," he finally said, sitting up. The world seemed to lurch a few degrees ahead of him as he did so, so he closed his eyes. "How did I--?"

"Get here? Christ." Jill's voice was a mixture of annoyance and worry. "You fainted, or something. Ed found you slumped over your desk. He and old Mikey carried you all the way here," she explained. "You can't work like this, Leon. Fix yourself up. I'm driving you home."

They left a couple of minutes later.

x x x

Jill wasn't driving him home. Leon realized that, looking out the window then wishing he hadn't, because cars and buildings and people were whizzing by and his head spun just having to watch all of it. They were going the wrong way. To get to his apartment, you took a left at the first intersection, not right the way Jill went. The route they were taking currently, they'd be in Chinatown in fifteen minutes--

Wait. "Jill?"

"Mm?"

"Don't fucking tell me we're headed to D's."

His partner seemed to consider that for a moment. "Alright," she answered flippantly. "I won't."

"But that's where you're taking me, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Leon sighed, and pressed a hand to his burning forehead. "Do I have a say in this?"

"The long reply is 'Who's driving the car?'" Jill put in, eyes scanning the road as they sped forward. "The short one is... 'Nope.'" She changed lanes, overtaking a black Honda Civic crawling steadily up the avenue. "Chill out. I'm sure the Count will take you in. You haven't had any of your little lovers' spats lately, have you?"

He shot her a withering look. "That's not my freakin' problem!" Leon snarled, blushing despite himself. "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over."

"Why?"

"I'm getting a cab home." Hell, he'll walk to his apartment if he had to--

"So we could discover your decaying corpse three weeks later?" Jill replied sarcastically. "No way." Her hands gripped the steering wheel resolutely. "Look, Leon, the nurse said you shouldn't be left all by yourse--"

"I ain't going to the hospital just because of a goddamn fever," Leon cut in.

"Right," Jill acquiesced, giving him a sideways glance. "I thought as much. That's why we'll ask if you could stay at the shop for a while, see? I mean, Chris already stays there, and you'll be far too sick to throw your dirty laundry all over the place, so..." She shrugged her shoulders.

"I can take care of myself," he protested.

"Not with your fainting spells, you can't."

"But--"

"We're here," Jill announced, and yes, they were at the narrow streets of Chinatown, and Count D's pet shop was just up ahead. Jill slowed down, parking the car in front of the shop. She released the lock on the car doors, swinging her side open. "Come on. I'll explain the situation to the Count."

x x x

Author's Rants: Back from the dead! Yay. Tell me what you liked, tell me what you didn't like, and tell me any suggestions on how to improve the story. Oh, yeah... I might move this some place else because the viewer rating would have to go higher, seeing as you could all probably guess the citrusy direction the plot's heading. Then again, I could upload a toned down version here. Heehee. It will be uploaded by Christmas, because Christmas break will be the ONLY real free time I get from here on. (sob)

(3) Nue Ehr's corpse, from Volume 7's Donor episode.


	5. C Sharp B Flat

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does. Not I.  
Preliminary Notes: This story occurs just after the Donor episode in volume 7 of the manga. I would recommend going back to Chapters 2 and 3 to refresh your memory before reading further. The story might make more sense if you do. Again, the R rating is there for a reason. This is a YAOI (Leon x Count D) fic. Just a warning to the homophobic. 

**Delirium**

by spare

Chapter 5: C Sharp B Flat

"Ah, Detective," D breathed. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"Just so you know, I'm not exactly hot about this setup, either."

"Yes, of course," he agreed, as Q-chan chirped a similar response from where he hovered just above his right shoulder. One would get the idea, considering the Detective had tried to make a run for it the minute Jill went over to knock at the door. He would have been successful, too, if only he did not trip halfway through the curb and fall flat on his face. Needless to say, Leon had suffered a nasty bump on the head. It was nothing short of a miracle his nose wasn't broken; then again, he already sported a cut on the left side of his face. Goodness knew where that came from.

Leon glared at him, ever suspicious as always, blinked, then looked hurriedly away. Traces of a blush tainted the American's cheeks. "Anyway."

"Yes?"

"I..." Leon cleared his throat. He cast a sideways glance, blushing a deeper red when he noticed the Count was looking back. "Forget it," he finished weakly, turning away.

D stared at the back of his blond head, allowing the slightest hint of a frown to crease his forehead. "If you say so," the pet shop owner finally said, letting it go at the moment. It will not do to argue with the Detective, after all, given his present condition. Even if, he added silently to himself, he was finding it rather difficult not to. The man had a fever running close to 40 degrees Celsius, and could barely walk a few yards without falling down. Besides these, however, Leon was his usual self: uncouth, stubborn and irritating to deal with.

The Count sighed. Why he agreed to Jill's proposal to take the Detective in, he himself did not know. He should have suggested confinement in the hospital. The amenities there would be certainly better than whatever supplies the pet shop could offer. But D had let Jill talk and give him that half-pleading, half-apologetic look that meant she was not taking no for an answer. So Jill drove away ten minutes later, politely refusing his usual offer of tea, and D had Leon tucked in bed -- after much coaxing on his part and cursing on the other's -- under layers of blankets in one of the shop's spare rooms.

And, of course, there was Chris. It would certainly not do to turn the Detective away with his little brother watching. The boy had been understandably concerned over his older brother's condition, and would not leave Leon's side until Tet-chan had to drag him off to eat his dinner. That had been scarcely five minutes ago; D knew the younger Orcot would be back in record time to watch over his sibling, as the child had done in the other times Leon was incapacitated.

D closed his eyes briefly, plum-colored lips pursing into a wry, self-deprecating smile. There were other reasons, too, he had to admit; none of which he wanted to dwell upon too deeply. Introspection is but one of many weaknesses humans indulge in far too often. Whatever other reasons there may be, Leon was now his responsibility.

"No need to be so closed off, Detective. You need to rest," the Count declared, bending down to retrieve the tray of tea he had set down on the low bedside table. Leon's shoulders seemed to tense up at this remark, and he looked back up again at D, blue eyes hazy and unreadable. How strange, indeed. It was usually quite easy to read what went on behind those eyes. It was one thing D found fascinating about the mortal; how one so jaded -- so coarse, and worldly -- could have the pure, untainted eyes of a child. Clearing his throat, he continued, "At any rate, I have prepared this for you." He held out a half-filled teacup to the man, mildly annoyed at the hesitant expression that crossed the Detective's face as he did so. "It is not poisoned, I assure you."

The comment appeared to shake Leon from his uncharacteristic reverie. "I wasn't thinking it was," the blond-haired man replied, sitting up and wresting the cup from D's hands. He took a sip, swallowed, and grimaced. "What the heck is this stuff?"

"Qing ho," the Count promptly returned. "It is very good for fever."

Leon made a face. "It's terrible, is what it is."

D shot him a withering look. Really. The Detective could be so insufferably puerile at times. "I considered mixing a bit of sugar in it," the pet shop owner retorted icily, "but as I recall, you are averse to adding the substance to your drink." Then as a sudden inspiration, he added, "If I were to pour it in with your beer, perhaps--?"

Incredibly, Leon seemed to consider his proposal for a moment. "Yeah, maybe."

Count D stilled his tongue from quipping "I meant that in jest" and merely watched, nodding encouragingly, as the Detective drank the rest of the cup's contents.

"Huh, there we go," Leon murmured when he was done, allowing D to take the now-empty cup from him and return it on the tray. He rubbed his forehead, brows furrowed, and lay back down on the bed. "Anyway, D..."

"Yes?"

"Uh... That is, I..." The Detective appeared to grope for words. The Count watched him patiently. "I--I guess I should thank you," Leon finally declared, studiously avoiding his eyes. He cleared his throat. "For taking me in on short notice. I mean, you're already looking after Chris for me--"

"Detective," D shushed him by clasping one large hand in his. "It is no real bother. Young Christopher is a dear child, and you..." Now it was the Count's turn to hesitate. "While I must admit you are a man sorely lacking in temperance and refinement," at this, Leon had the grace to scowl, "... You... have your uses." D finished at last.

"Christ," Leon snorted, throwing a forearm over his eyes. "S'That the best you can come up with?"

An uncharacteristic tick mark appeared on the Count's temple. "I /was/ trying to cheer you up," he replied. "A rather heroic effort, considering your naturally irascible disposition." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Regardless, I have already told you that your staying here bears no great issue for me." He squeezed his hand firmly, briefly.

"Yeah, alright," Leon said. Then he continued, voice growing soft, "If... it's cool for you, then... Then it's cool for me." He swallowed, and closed his eyes, yawning. "I... so tired..."

The Count released his hand, smiling down on him gently. "Then sleep," he whispered. "You need all the rest you can get."

"Yeah, I'm... gonna." Another yawn. Leon's eyes stayed shut, voice growing fainter by the moment. "Although I... think... you won't be letting me..." He paused, and this time the Detective gave one big yawn before snuggling deeper into the pillow his head rested upon. A sigh. "Like... in those... other times..."

He was snoring softly by the time D replaced the cup on the bedside table. The Count watched the sleeping man dubiously, wondering at the words Leon had half-mumbled as the mild sedative he had earlier put in the infusion took effect. Something about not letting him... something. And he has done it -- whatever _it_ was -- before? He frowned.

The door to the chamber creaked open, just then, and Chris walked in, Pon-chan and Tet-chan trailing behind.

"Kyu," Q-chan greeted, flying over to perch atop Chris' head.

"Hmph, so the big guy went and fell asleep, eh?" Tet-chan remarked, shrugging.

"I wouldn't mind taking a nap myself," Pon-chan put in. She yawned, patting her stomach contentedly. "I'm so full..."

Chris headed over to where his brother lay sleeping on the bed. /"Is he gonna be okay?/" the boy asked, a worried frown creasing his features.

"He will be," D assured him. "Your brother is a hardy fellow, after all. I'm sure he will be fine in a few days."

_"I hope so."_ Chris nodded, anxiously looking at Leon's sleeping form. Then his gaze fell onto something. _"Hey..."_

The others stared at him. "What is it, Chris?" Pon-chan inquired.

The boy's frown deepened. /"There's something..."/ He bent over slightly, reaching out to brush something from the space beside Leon's head. /"Here."/ He held out his hand for them to see. The tip of his finger was covered in a yellow, powdery substance.

"Let me see that." Tet-chan grabbed his hand. "Looks like pollen. Count, what do you think?" he asked, turning his gaze to where the pet shop owner stood behind them. "Hey, Count?"

"Count D?"

"Kyu?"

D did not reply; did not even appear to acknowledge their summons. Instead, his mismatched eyes were riveted on something just above the bedpost, above Leon's head. Something only he could see.

x x x

The clock she could see through the glass of the adjoining room read ten minutes after seven in the evening. Jill, having returned to the LAPD station not fifteen minutes before that, leaned against the wall, tapping a foot impatiently against the polished floor. The door in front of her swung open. She sighed, straightened up, and gazed expectantly at the figure that emerged.

"Is this the file you wanted?" a short, bespectacled man in his mid-forties inquired, stepping out of the forensics lab and into the lobby.

Jill accepted the printout eagerly. "Yes. Thanks, Ray."

"Hey, no prob. And I don't really deserve full credit. I just took up where Ike left off," Ray admitted, shrugging. "How'd Orcot take it, by the way? Staying at his 'home away from home'?" he laughed.

Jill bit back a grin, and failed. "Not too well. I'll bet he's simmering right now." She frowned suddenly. "If he hasn't fainted again, that is." Her eyes scanned through the first page of the autopsy report, widening by the time she was done. She gave a low whistle. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she began, "but are you guys saying what I think you're saying in here?" she finished, holding up the sheaf of papers.

Ray nodded gravely. "It's kinda hard to believe, I know," he acceded. "'An as yet unidentified plant propagated itself inside the subject's stomach.' Let's see that hold up in court." He threw up his hands. "Problem is, it's true. The yellow seeds extracted from Renaud's stomach did not match the genetic makeup of any specie we've documented before."

"It's an entirely new specie, then?"

Ray rubbed his chin, frowned, and shook his head. "I wouldn't say that, not exactly. Our plant's more aptly described as an horticultural Frankenstein, if you ask me." Noticing the intrigued expression on Jill's face, he clarified, "It's like someone went and pieced together aspects of several plants. We have a plant who is a cross between a fern and a lily, exudes mildly narcotic toxins targeting the pleasure centers of the brain at irregular intervals -- too erratic to be our good friend Mary Jane, for sure -- and appears to be semi-carnivorous, too. You know what it did to Renaud."

Jill fell silent. Her gaze wandered back to the bottom of the page. She cleared her throat. "And you say the cause of death was--"

"A fatal dose of those toxins acting upon the victim's brain," Ray finished for her.

x x x

_There was something tickling the base of his neck; a soft, lingering motion. Leon opened his eyes, not really surprised when odd-colored ones met his, greeting him warmly through a fall of black hair._

_D._

_"Welcome back, my dear detective," the apparition whispered, plum-colored lips curving up into a teasing smile. "I've missed you. We were so rudely interrupted the last time..." The Count lowered his head, nuzzling Leon's throat, fingers moving upward to thread through the Detective's blond hair. His breath felt cool against Leon's heated skin. "Well then." A slender hand, the one that wasn't occupied with his hair, caressed the top of his thigh, and higher. "Shall we continue where we left off?"_

x x x

She watched him. She sat on the bed Leon slept in, leaning against the headboard. She wore a white tunic plaited with green. Golden bangles adorned her arms and ankles.

D sent the others away in his usual calm, unperturbed manner, declaring something along the lines of the lateness of the hour and it being way past Chris' and Pon-chan's bed time. Chris protested, saying he was not feeling sleepy at all, but Tet-chan, reading the look in D's eyes, gruffly told the boy it was time to turn in for the evening. Pon-chan, sleepy-eyed and utterly oblivious, heartily agreed. Q-chan followed them as well, having been given a silent order by the Count to leave them alone. The Valvertinger rabbit seemed to be the only other creature aware of her presence.

She watched their departure, and watched him. She gently combed her tiny fingers through the Detective's hair all the while. Leon slept on; D did not know whether to be relieved or repulsed by this.

"Well," the figure before him finally breathed, when they were gone, "this has been an interesting turn of events." She pressed an index finger over one dimpled cheek thoughtfully. "And here I thought I could evade your sight." A sigh. "But, considering what you are, I guess you would have seen me sooner or later." She spread her arms wide. "So, what do you think, Count? Don't I look good?"

"You look well." Different, but well. Her hair was a lighter shade of green, her once-dusky skin now pallid. But the most startling transformation lay in the color of her eyes. Since the rains have arrived, they should have been a vibrant green. Instead, they were now a deep, muted crimson. "Elna." He bowed. "I must admit, it is something of a surprise to see you here."

She smiled. Even now, it did not reach her eyes. "You've always had a penchant for understating things, Count D."

He gave a small nod. "I suppose so," he replied. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. The action seemed to amuse her. "If I recall correctly, you passed away fifteen years ago. And yet, here you are."

Elna laughed. "Yes," she declared giddily. "Yes. I _am _here, aren't I?"

D nodded again, eyes lowered. Then in a careful, quiet voice, he added, "May I inquire as to how this is so?"

She waved her hands dismissively and shook her head. "Oh, we'll get to that," she returned. "What I'm interested in right now is _you_, Count. How have you been? Your father would always--"

"My father?" He stared at her, alarmed.

"Yes," Elna confirmed, "your father." She sounded as if it should have been obvious. As it perhaps was. She shrugged. "Where else would I have been staying, all these years? At least, until Jackie got me." Elna frowned, suddenly. "But you don't know him, do you?" she went on. "Too bad you can't see him, now. He was an awfully nice person. I bet you would have liked him. Not as much as you like this one," she added, gazing lovingly down at the Detective's sleeping form, "but that couldn't be helped. Could it?"

D's eyes widened. "How do you--"

"I told you already. Your father," she enunciated the last two words slowly, as if speaking to a slow child. She shifted her gaze upwards and went back to leisurely petting Leon's hair. "It's you he only ever talks about. Drove us all crazy." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Nue Ehr ought to have given you an idea."

The Count bowed his head. "Yes, I suppose."

"You 'suppose'." She rolled her eyes. "Really. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. This mortal," she began, indicating the man whose face she caressed with tiny fingers. "You call him Leon, correct?"

"That is his name."

x x x

_"Leon..." Count D purred against his shoulder, right at the moment slim, nimble fingers encircled the length of his cock._

_Leon gasped, nearly jumping out of the bed at the motion. He was bare there, he realized. He blinked, and did a double take. He was bare everywhere..._

_And so was D. The Detective groaned, apprehending this, even more when he felt the pet shop owner's hand move in firm, steady strokes._

_"I took the liberty of unclothing us both," the Count explained, tilting his head upward to meet his gaze once again. A thumb brushed his lips, parting them. "There were too much in the way for what I have in mind." He pressed a quick kiss over his mouth. "You are not displeased by that, I hope?" he went on, an amused, interested expression on his features as Leon's hips jerked upwards in time with his movements._

_"N-no," the Detective managed to choke out. "No, D--"_

x x x

Elna laughed. "Leon it is. Yes. Well," she breathed, "I intend to have him for my own. As I did the other one."

At this, D blinked. "Sean Renaud," the Count whispered. "The writer the Detective referred to not two days ago."

Elna nodded eagerly. "The one and the same. But 'Jackie' suits him better, I think."

"It was you, then, who took Renaud's life?"

She waggled deep green eyebrows at him. "In a way. You know how it works, Count." She tilted her head to the side, sighing softly. "It was Renaud who allowed me to his home. He knew I was a plant. Your father told him I was a plant. But he wanted me to be his dead wife." Her gaze lifted, smoky, soulless eyes meeting his. "Diane."

Ah. It all fell into place. "I had suspected as much, once the Detective told me about the circumstances of Jacques Marcel's death," D admitted. He gazed at her steadily. "But I had my doubts. After all, I had believed up to now that you were dead."

"And yet, I'm not," Elna intoned gleefully. "There's the rub." A chuckle escaped her lips. "Jackie was a dreamer. That was why it was all too easy to take him." Her thumb brushed against Leon's lips. "This one's a dreamer, too. His heart is pure, true." She paused, and lifted a free hand to cup her chin. "I bet you wanna know what form I took to have him with me. The one he so desires. Care to guess?"

She stared earnestly into his eyes for a long moment, and made a disappointed sound when he did not answer. "It's you," she replied at last, winking conspirationally. "This one's heart desires you, Count. A lot. And his love tastes absolutely delicious, too..." she continued, licking her lips, "as are other parts of his anatomy."

x x x

_"D..."_

_Was it his own voice that he heard, Leon wondered, somewhere in the haze of his lust and confusion, sounding so lost? So needful? His hands scrabbled free of where he clutched the covers tightly, rising up to touch the flawless expanse of pale skin pressing against his own. "Oh fuck, D..."_

_"Such a foul mouth," the Count scolded, a half-second before his own mouth descended once again to kiss it. D's tongue played with his, tasted him hungrily, ruthlessly._

_Leon moaned into the kiss, closing his eyes, letting it happen. As if on their own accord, his hands traveled downward, caressing D's body with worshipful fingers. He could feel his cock throb between his legs, could feel blood pounding through his ears. He could feel a myriad of other sensations he didn't want to bother describing, not now. Why the heck would it matter having to bring it down to words, anyway? It was D. All D. He'd wanted this, wanted him, for so long. Too long._

_"Yes. You do want me," D whispered, breaking the kiss. "You desire me. Don't you, my dear detective?" He proceeded to lick a trail down the side of his neck, over his collarbone. "Say it." Moving down his chest, he flicked his tongue over a flat nipple. Leon shuddered in response. "I want to hear it, Detective. You want me."_

_"Ah... You--" Leon gasped. He swallowed, and tried again. "I-- want you. D!"_

_D feathered kisses down his stomach, lingered a moment over Leon's navel, and stopped. "You desire me," he prompted, breathing over the sensitized flesh._

_"I desire you!" Leon cried out. "Oh. God!" He arched back against the bed, gritting his teeth as D's mouth continued its progress southward to where his hand still pumped him mercilessly. Trembling fingers threaded through ebony hair, not quite pushing down. A harsh sob escaped his lips as D finally reached his intended destination, replacing his hand with his mouth, swirling that tongue over him, taking him in, and--_

_Now. It was-- now. D. Leon gave a hoarse shout, eyes snapping open, watching the world implode behind his eyes as he came, body spasming, hips thrust upward in helpless abandon._

x x x

Count D could feel his heart skip a beat. A silly thought, really. He told himself it was not much of a revelation to begin with, what she said. The Detective was... He shook himself from his wayward thoughts. "Elna--"

"I must feed, Count D," she asserted. "I know you have grown rather fond of this particular human, but this is the natural order of things. Surely you would not begrudge me that?"

He stood his ground. "'The natural order of things'," D hollowly echoed her words. "I suppose Father told you that."

"Yes, he did," Elna admitted, a wry smile crossing her features. "He taught us a lot of things, in fact." Her face grew thoughtful. "Your father... he has helped us. Me. It is thanks to him that I continue to live on, rather than wither away in my old body."

D regarded her skeptically. "By feeding on the essence of another?"

"As our kind have done before."

The pet shop owner shook his head. "Your kind has never been--"

"Virulent? Contagious?" She finished for him, laughing harshly. "Yes, by nature we die the moment our host does." The smile resurfaced on her lips. "Now, it is different. Your father made it different."

D looked at her for a long while. "What has he done to you, Elna?" he finally whispered, barely able to restrain himself from balling his hands into fists. Though he knew. He could imagine only too well.

Elna folded her arms. "Oh, a lot of things. Some of them not so pleasant," she admitted, "but the end result more than makes up for any previous discomfort. I am... how should I put it? Virtually immortal." She lowered her head and, as if unable to resist, pressed a kiss on Leon's forehead. D could feel his blood freeze, momentarily, at the action. "I will be merciful, Count," Elna continued, lifting her head. "I will make his last moments of life utter bliss, his death the sweet release it ought to be. Just as I did with the other." She smiled at him engagingly, a hint of apology in her face. "I'm sorry that I'll have to drain him of his life force right here in your shop, though. You should have--"

"No."

She blinked. "What?"

"No," D repeated, voice quiet but firm. The shadows played upon the planes of his face, concealing his eyes from her view. "You will do no such thing, Elna."

x x x

Author's Ramblings: Whew. This chapter is the longest I've written for this story yet, as well as the longest to come out. Why? Because I typed up this chapter and the next practically in the same week. They had to tie together, you see. Also, I'm happy to announce that this fic's almost finished! Whee! I'll publish the next installments as soon as Elana-chan gets done with the beta-read. As we are both weighed down by our respective (cough) academic pursuits, however, it goes without saying that we can't promise anything. Hehe. (Insert sweatdrop here) Sorry.


	6. A Thousand Tiny Deaths High and Dry Vers...

Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. The pre-eminent Matsuri Akino does.  
Notice: This is the expurgated, uber-abridged version of Chapter 6. I'm too lazy to edit the entire chapter to make it R. So I went and shaved off two-thirds of the chapter. For the details on how to view the full version of this chapter, scroll to the bottom of this page. Gomen nasai... 

Delirium

by spare

Chapter 6: A Thousand Tiny Deaths

Chris couldn't sleep. He tossed. He turned. He tried sleeping on his right side. When that didn't work, he tried sleeping on his left. When _that _didn't work, he tried sleeping upside-down. Then flat on his stomach. Then, because he couldn't breathe in that position, on his back. That didn't work, either. His eyes wouldn't stay shut for long. He looked over to where Pon-chan lay on the other side of the bed, snuggled comfortably on the downy pillow, sound asleep. Chris envied her.

_"Big bro's sleeping somewhere in here, too," _the boy thought silently to himself. He ought to. Leon had looked really tired when Jill and the Count brought him into the shop, his face all red and his eyes all droopy. They told him his brother had a fever. Well, duh! As if Chris couldn't see that. He'd had his own share of fevers. Why, he had his worst just last year. Or was that a year and a half? Red, itchy spots had sprouted all over his body. His parents said he'd come down with "chicken pox", which Chris found weird, since he hadn't gone anywhere near any chickens before he got sick.

He had missed one week of school because of that, and that meant he'd had to do twice as much homework when he got well enough to go back. Chris scrunched his nose in remembrance. Fevers were bad. He wondered whether Leon would do twice as much homework (or what passed for that in his line of work) once _he _gets well.  
_  
"And he will," _Chris added, staring at the ceiling. He never doubted for a second that his brother would become fine again. Leon would be OK because Count D said so. The Count was always right about these things. The only question was how soon. He hoped it would be sooner.

Chris sat up, stretching his legs as he did so, and looked around the room. There weren't any lights on, but that was OK, because his eyes had pretty much adjusted to the dark. He could make out the curtains covering the far wall of the room, and the bedroom door, lined with the light from the hallway beyond, just across it. It was quiet, but not too quiet. You could always hear people talking, even singing, somewhere in the Count's shop, if you tried hard enough. It figured. There were so many people in here, after all. He never seemed to run out of new faces to see. And there were so many rooms to explore!

Explore. That's what he got to do. He could visit Philippe, or Shuko and her sisters. Hopefully they were still awake. It was too early to sleep, anyway. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake Pon-chan up, Chris got out of bed, bare feet landing on the carpet with a small thump. He rounded the edge of the bed, and nearly tripped over a sheet.

Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot about that. Sometime in the night, his feet had pushed the blankets all the way to the foot of the bed. T-chan, who usually slept there, would have been mad.

He picked up the blankets and put them back on the bed, frowning at the empty spot where the red-haired boy was supposed to be. T-chan would have been mad, except that T-chan wasn't there tonight. Chris thought he might have sneaked out again. T-chan always did, whenever he thought he could get away with it.

Chris had once asked him where he went on those nights. "Somewhere babies like you shouldn't be yapping about," the older boy had replied, smirking. "Go fill in coloring books with Pon-chan." Pon-chan had glared at T-chan then, and sniffed, nose stuck in the air. Chris had wanted to glare, too. He wasn't a baby; he was almost eight years old! But then the Count had finished preparing the tea and asked him to help with the cake he'd set out, so Chris didn't have the chance to do so.

It was also later (after two slices of cake and hide-and-seek and Leon visiting and T-chan tripping him accidentally on purpose as he made his way back to the stairs leading out of the shop) that Chris realized T-chan hadn't really answered his question.

An idea popped up inside the younger Orcot's head. He would find out where T-chan had gone off to, tonight! He inwardly beamed. All by himself, too. That would prove to the older boy that he wasn't a baby. With that thought firmly in mind, Chris closed the distance between his feet and the door. His hands found the latch, turning it gently.

The door swung open. Chris stepped out.

"Couldn't sleep, too, huh?"

Chris jumped. _"T-chan!"_

"Hey, kid," T-chan drawled from where he sat leaning against a wall, knees drawn, one clawed hand upraised in greeting.

_"What are you doing out here?" _Chris asked, feeling both disappointed and relieved to find the toutetsu in the hallway. This was where T-chan went every night?

"Passing the time," the older boy replied with a shrug. "Nobody feels like sleeping tonight, it seems," he muttered, folding his arms behind his head. "'cept for Pon-chan, and your brother, of course. I think I saw Q-chan fly past just a while ago, too. The little furball seemed to be all riled up about something."

_"Q-chan?"_

"Yeah." T-chan thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, he sorta freaked out right after you found those yellow grains on the bed. What do you think that means?" He cast him a sideways glance, and added, "Not that a little squirt like you could figure it out, anyway."

_"I could, too!" _Chris declared indignantly. _"It means--" _He stopped. _"Wait. The Count kinda looked upset that time, too." _No. Not upset. Scared was more like it. Chris had not really noticed, before.

T-chan frowned. "Something ain't right here," he said, but he didn't elaborate further. He was quiet for a few moments, looking like he was making up his mind up something. Then he turned toward Chris. "Wanna check up on your brother again?"

_"Well..." _Chris began. He did want to go see Leon again, even though that probably won't make him any better. _"But--"_

"Don't tell me you won't go 'cause the Count said we should be asleep," T-chan cut him off, sneering as if it was the most babyish thing in the world to do. "We'll just take a sec. The Count will understand," he added.

_"O... OK, I guess."_

x x x

They were almost at the door to where the Count had tucked Leon in a few minutes later. They would have gotten there earlier, too, except that they passed by a kid with big, yellow eyes who said hello and never seemed to stop talking. He said his name was Oulan, which meant rain, and while nothing could compare to the tropical forests he'd left behind when Count D took him in, the petshop was a fine enough place. Oulan had wanted to say more, but T-chan had made up some excuse and then they had finally left, walking faster than usual.

"Damned bird," T-chan had muttered when they were far enough away. Chris had thought the comment funny, then, but didn't say anything. Everyone sometimes said (and did) weird things inside the shop. He had gotten used to it.

T-chan walked ahead of him, a scowl on his face. If Chris didn't know any better, he would think that T-chan was as freaked out about that 'something' as Q-chan and the Count were. But it was only a bunch of seeds. Wasn't it?

"Here we are," the older boy announced, stopping before Leon's room. The door was closed, but that was to be expected. Chris stepped closer, and then noted something that wasn't.

There were strange, muffled sounds coming from the room. T-chan seemed to notice it, too, because his frown grew even deeper. Someone was talking inside. Chris couldn't get what the person was saying, though -- it all came out too fast, and like whoever it was was out of breath. Another person said something in reply. Wait/Leon/ said something in reply. Chris would recognize his older brother's voice anywhere, even though it /did/ sound dry and wheezy. And the person they'd heard earlier was Count D.

Raising both eyebrows, Chris pressed his ear to the door. He still couldn't get what they were saying, but at least they weren't fighting. It didn't sound like that, at least. _"Leon and Count D are talking inside," _he whispered. Suddenly it felt like a good idea to whisper. He didn't want to disturb them.

"Duh," T-chan replied, rolling his eyes.

Then they heard it. A squeaking sound, the kind Chris' bed made whenever he jumped on it or rolled around too hard. But this sound was louder, and longer, like somebody was bouncing repeatedly on the bed. Chris guessed it was Leon. He couldn't picture the Count doing anything like that. What was funny was the Count wasn't scolding his brother for doing that, though. In fact, Leon was saying something, and the Count had started to sing, except that his voice wasn't that good -- it was broken, as if he wasn't breathing properly.

Weird.

T-chan's eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds without saying anything. "We should... go," the older boy declared finally, turning to him. Chris couldn't help but notice the way the T-chan's face seemed to turn all white and pasty for a few seconds, only to become a shade of red almost, but not quite, matching his hair color.

Weird, Chris thought, blinking. All this was weird. _"But... what are they doing in there?"_

"N-Nothing..." the toutetsu replied. But then his face began to _really_ match the color of his hair, so Chris knew 'nothing' meant something.

_"You don't know, either, do you?"_

"I do, too!" T-chan growled. "It's just..." the older boy groped for words. "We should leave them alone." He grabbed Chris by the scruff of his shirt, and tugged.

Very weird. The sounds continued before them, coming from inside the room. _"B-but--" _he began to protest.

_"Come on," _T-chan ordered, and dragged them as far from the door as he could, as if he thought it might blast open any second.

And that was that.

But, Chris noted, while T-chan carried him bodily through the hallway and off to the bed where only Pon-chan slept at the moment, the door remained closed.

x x x

Note2: The full version of this chapter can be read at mediaminer (same author name, similar title, same genre; I can't post the URL directly here, sorry). I've also posted it at the PSoH fanfic e-group.

It's NC-17 or M-plus, meaning if you're below 18 years old, you can't view it.


End file.
